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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27187690">Tormentor Keef</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/explodingviolently/pseuds/explodingviolently'>explodingviolently</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Invader Zim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Right now most of the characters are just mentioned briefly but I promise they'll make a cameo later, Um., i guess, the 'enemies' part is more one sided</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:54:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,703</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27187690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/explodingviolently/pseuds/explodingviolently</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Zib is alone in the empty, barren Earth - after the events of the Zimvoid. Actually, scratch that. Zib *wishes* he were alone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dib &amp; Keef (Invader Zim), Zib &amp; Keef (Invader Zim)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tormentor Keef</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Oh, boy! My first real IZ fic. This ones gonna be fun, I think. I can really flesh Zib out I hope.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He’d yelled at them as they left. Pleaded to them. Pleaded at them? Definitely more like ‘at them’. There wasn’t too much mutualistic conversation going on at the time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Don’t leave me here!’,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’d yelled. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Don’t leave me here all alone!’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And they did. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oddly enough, Dib couldn’t bring himself to really focus too much on his alternate self, the betrayal of it all. Or, really, his little green companion (Enemy? It was difficult to tell). More like small things. He was shorter, it looked like, in this other timeline. Cleaner hair. Looked like it had been combed just that morning. Like he’d gelled it, getting his hands ever so slightly sticky in rinsing them in the sink. Something that probably bugged him the rest of the day. He’d worn sneakers, too. He’d never been a fan of sneakers. Made irritating squeaking noises on laminate floors. Boots were much sturdier. Made him look </span>
  <em>
    <span>cool, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and intimidating too. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, these were the small things. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The small things he focused on to avoid focusing on those more... apparent things. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Those more apparent things that seemed to be itching at his brain, like an especially filthy case of lice. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The big things. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The horrible, </span>
  <em>
    <span>disgusting</span>
  </em>
  <span> look of pity in his own eyes as his shorter, sneakered, self with properly gelled hair slipped away, leaving him flat on his rear in a pile of metal and trash. Completely alone. For the first time in a long time. He realized shortly thereafter he had a grinding headache. Maybe he realized he’d had a headache for years now, but the constant volume of those….. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Irkens… </span>
  </em>
  <span>it had drowned it out. He itched at his scalp. Moved down a bit to that metal protrusion at the base of his skull. He scrunched up his face, rubbing a hand- a normal, </span>
  <em>
    <span>real, human </span>
  </em>
  <span>hand across the PAK. He lurched at the contact, almost as if he wasn’t expecting it. He sighed loudly, before resigning to it again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>… Zim?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing. It was always nothing. That green freak hadn’t bothered to give him the time of day since he killed him (excluding the built in clock that the PAK had installed). Sure, he’d killed him. Pulled his stupid alien backpack right from his spine and watched as he squirmed across the floor of his father’s lab. But he could at least TRY. Maybe give him SOME kind of answer. Maybe stop giving him such a headache. Maybe apologize for…. for what happened after. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate </span>
  </em>
  <span>aliens.” He kicked a pile of metal over, and followed it with his eyes until it reached the very bottom of the heap he was currently wallowing on top of. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something skittered away from it quickly. Too quickly for anything human or otherwise. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“ZIM - !” </span>
  </em>
  <span>His brain hadn’t caught up with his eyes before he fired as many rounds as he could at the tiny little roach. Before realizing it was a roach, of course. He slumped, spider-like legs retracting into the metal lined Irken brain on his head with a familiar, uncomfortable grinding sensation. He winced, giving the smear of a roach one last glare. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Figures as much that these two roaches would be the only thing surviving the apocalypse. Dib scooted forward, pulling himself off the ground. Dusting off his permanently grimey jacket. Pulling a few chunks of debris and shrapnel from his hair. Wiping his glasses on his shirt. He hated taking his glasses off. Was always a pain to get back on his face. Without the bridge of his nose there to…. no, no it was still there. His face was just as it had always been. It was just sweaty, was all. He chuckled. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Silly Dib. Letting all this alone time get to you.” He meandered his way off the pile of scrap metal, the ex-ship, tripping every now and again on the spare pile of trash or Zim-void memorabilia. Merch did sell quite well, for an abandoned outpost of failure Irkens. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Zim wasn’t a failure</span>
  </em>
  <span>, something inside of him chided. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Quite right. Zim was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>menace. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Desperate to claw the Earth into its heinous grave with his… claws. Evil little Irken-y claws. That’s why Dib was lucky to take him out when he did. Things could have been worse. Much worse.</span>
</p>
<p><span><br/>
</span> <span>Even though there weren’t any humans left. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And even though the reason for that was because… </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He ruffled his hair, shaking his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m humanity’s savior, obviously. Just because I never saved THIS Earth doesn’t mean I didn’t save hundreds more! I mean, no horribly evil killer would talk to himself this much!” Dib put his hands on his hips, satisfied at that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow…. you’re so right! I never even thought of it that way!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“WHAT!!” He lurched around, grabbing a particularly large, sharp piece of shrapnel from beneath his feat at the cheerful voice. The cheerful voice without a source, that could be stalking him, about to kill him, ready to-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Be my bestest friend?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was an outstretched hand in front of him. A pasty, somewhat sweaty hand, with stubby short little fingers. Dib squinted at it as if it were volatile. He followed the fingers. The palm, the wrist, the elbow, the shoulder, up to whoever it was that was making an attempt on his life. Bright red hair. That was the first thing he really registered. Bright red hair and… an uncannily cheerful face. With a cartoonishly big smile that was - oh. He was talking. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...I just thought - gee! Since you’re like, Dib AND Zim, my two BESTEST buddies, maybe we could be best buddies too! It would be like… even MORE friendship!” He bounced in place, radiating such potent cheerful energy it could kill a moose. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“EH?” Dib held the shrapnel fragment to the redhead’s jugular, tilting his head with a bit of an exaggerated </span>
  <em>
    <span>crunch.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I am NOT Zim. I am DIB! Dib, you HEAR?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh!” He didn’t seem to mind the chunk of metal threatening to decapitate him. “That’s okay, Zib buddy!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“STOP YELLING AND SWEARING AT ME!!” He yelled, standing on his tiptoes to make himself taller. More intimidating. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Keef! Remember me! Oh, wow! I’m taller than you now, huh!” He patted Dib’s head, giggling. “Gosh, Zib, it’s been such a while!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dib’s brain filtered out pretty much every word besides ‘taller’ and ‘Zib’, so needless to say, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuming. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is - no. Okay. No. No? No. I WANT NONE OF THIS!” He stormed away, almost acutely aware of the sound of Keef’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>tap-tap-tapping </span>
  </em>
  <span>footsteps nipping at his heels. He scrunched up his face, hoping that if he focused on wiggling his glasses across his face, he could blur Keef’s existence out entirely. That was a little bit impossible, however, with the little fellow drumming on his shoulders like a poorly trained masseuse. He sighed, wearily eyeing Keef. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look - listen, I appreciate the gesture. I really do. But you need to leave me alone. I’m trying to save the universe here, and I DON’T need an endearing sidekick.” He patted Keef on the shoulder, nearly blowing a fuse at the realization he had to reach up to do so. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, well-” He sniffed the air momentarily. “Mmm! You smell like waffles!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you hear anything I just said?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nuh-uh!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Grunt. Groan. Siiigggghhhh… Dib grabbed at his hair, pulling at those bizarre appendages (which were fully human, and normal) over his eyes. His stomach churned as he slumped forward, giving up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Keeeeffff…. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Keeeff……</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He hissed out, wriggling his claws… hands. Fingers. Those...things on his palms “I will allow you to-” He couldn’t even finish what was sure to be a long-winded monologue before the (slightly </span>
  <em>
    <span>irritatingly</span>
  </em>
  <span> TALLER) kid wrapped him up in an organ and bone crushing hug. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, boy, oh BOY!!” He hopped joyously, still clutching Dib to his chest like he was but an Extra Sippy Large Lad Suck Monkey. “We’re gonna be the BEST of friends, and hold hands, and go to family themed restaurants, and think about things and send them to each other's heads with our psychic powers, and-!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“ACK - INSOLENT FOOL B - YOU JERK!!” He kicked his legs uselessly, eventually wiggling free and storming off, Keef no doubt a few feet behind him. No, actually, he was certain, what with the sensation of his feet clipping against his heels every few steps. Not actually knowing where he was going also made it difficult to maneuver (politely) away from the heinous menace. His head hurt, and this </span>
  <em>
    <span>creature </span>
  </em>
  <span>was making it about 10-shmillion times worse. And that metal lump on his head was overheating, just to top everything off.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Zim, you JERK. I know you’re doing that on purpose. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>… </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Of course (duh) nothing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now he probably needed to find some coolant. Human materials did seem to work well enough repairing the stupid thing, which almost made it worthwhile. Dib thought he’d short-circuit if he had to rely on stupid green stupid ugly dumb STUPID green aliens for his day to day comings and goings. Almost worth the price of having the dumb thing in the first place. Even if it could never come off, it was nice to have a natural defense mechanism when preteen spaghetti arms couldn’t do the job. The gross mechanical pulsing was a little irritating, though. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Speaking of irritating….</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Keef-thing..? How are you… ehm. Alive?” He glanced up (Grr) at the redhead, furrowing his brows up intently. He’d figured that after the attack from the Armada and…. preceding events, pretty much all life on this desolate little rock was. Well. Deceased, to put it lightly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s easy! You know those little spoons straws you sometimes get with smoothies?” He made a quick hand motion to explain himself, glancing down (GRR) at Dib. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um. Yes?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Imagine that, but like…. oh, I’m bad at metaphors…” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t you just… eh… explain it normally?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would I do that?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dib briefly remembered that the average human lifespan was around 80 or so years. Minus the radiation poisoning they both were probably experiencing at the moment. So, taking into account that they both survived this next conversation, he was going to have 70 more years of Keef’s friendship. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I should have my brain removed.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Remember, comments are like blood to me in the sense that I need them and that I think they're cool.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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